Dean's Jeans
by Bethany Ruth
Summary: Shameless smut. I chose the rating M just to be safe. Read and enjoy, fellow Dean Winchester lovers.


Dean was lying on his back, only just realising the aching throughout his torso in a way that becomes apparent when you lie down on your bed at the end of the day. He checked his watch, 12:37am. Too late to still be awake, and yet despite his tired eyes, he couldn't fall asleep. Admittedly, it's not like he was really trying; he was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. He felt his eyelids finally close and a wave of something that could have been peace swept over him. Then a knocking. Dean's pupils sharpened as his eyes snapped open. Knocking. It was someone at the door to his small apartment, Dean's tired mind told him. Heaving himself from his bed, he dragged his feet across to the door, looking through the peephole, and saw a face he didn't recognise. The door creaked just a little as Dean cautiously opened it, revealing the frantic-looking woman behind the wood.

"Are you Dean Winchester?" She asked, her brows furrowing at the peak of her nose. Dean had to blink a few times to believe she was really there. His initial thought was 'how did she find me?', followed by 'maybe she needs help from me and Sam.' He then realised that this woman was looking at him somewhat impatiently, and he still hadn't spoken.

"Uhh, yeah." And before he could get anything else out of his mouth her lips were on his. She pushed her hands against his chest and backed him into his apartment, their lips still connected. Dean absentmindedly fumbled at pushing the door closed before he was too far away to reach, the only thought running through his mind being 'womannnnn' at the time. His hands gravitated to her ample hips and her hands snaked up around his neck. As she gradually distanced her lips from his and brought her hands back to his chest, Dean pulled his head back and heard her faintly laughing at his vacant, confused expression. "Uhh," Dean coughed to clear his throat, attempting to remove the squeak from his voice and sound manlier. "Um, what did I do to deserve that?" He let his trademark grin loose and gave her a look up and down [which he may or may not have stolen from Joey Tribianni]. She grinned back at him with an amorous showing through her lidded eyes.

"You're Dean Winchester." She ran a finger down his chest on one hand, the other pulling at the belt of her coat, undoing the loose knot and allowing the trench coat to hang open. "I've heard about you. About what you can do."

"A-a-are we talking about hunting?" Dean thought maybe this was some kind of test, and that this woman was a prospective client, testing his dedication to his work.

"Nooo," She replied, shrugging off her coat to reveal satin lingerie. "We, are talking about sex, Dean." She stepped forwards and grabbed Dean by the buckle of his belt, pulling their bodies together, and smiling smugly when Dean's hands once again drifted to her hips, lightly twirling the lace fringing of the lingerie between his fingers. "I've been told by a lot of women about you." Before Dean knew it, the backs of his knees were against the foot of his bed and the woman was pushing him back onto the mattress. She climbed on top of him and straddled his waist. Suddenly Dean wasn't so tired anymore. "They've all told me you were the best they'd ever had." She almost groaned, grinding on him through his jeans, causing him to moan and tighten his grip on her bare, smooth thighs. She leaned close to his face and whispered: "I want to know if what they've said is true. About how good you are. How strong you are. How _big _you are." Her mouth hung open in much the same way a tigress might let her jaw drop when she sees her next meal. Dean's ego needed no more inflation; he grabbed her waist and switched their positions, relishing in her surprised shriek and the feeling of her legs twining around his waist as his hand glided up her thigh and under her lingerie.

They shared another deep and passionate kiss as the woman clutched at Dean's t-shirt, pulling it up over his shoulders and taking a moment to trace her fingers over the scars here and there, the muscles everywhere, and the general bone structure of Dean's torso. She pushed on Dean's chest until both parties were knelt up in the bed, and was once again pawing at his belt buckle, pulling the weathered leather back until the buckle was loose and then pulling the belt from its loops. Dean's head hit his pillow for the third time that night as the woman pushed him back, got a firm grip on the waistband of his jeans, and pulled them clean off of him. Swelling once more, Dean's ego was delighted to see the woman's delighted, salacious shock at the sight of his bare body. "You're even bigger than they said you were." The words dripped from her mouth the way honey is drizzled over pancakes. She slid her lingerie up to her waist and sat astride Dean's erect member, both of them groaning as she did so. She began to gyrate her hips, her head falling back and her mouth dropping open. "God, Dean, you're so _big_, you feel so good inside me, Dean!" She was getting louder as she grinded on him faster and faster. Dean's hands met behind his head as he relished in the pure bliss of her body around his, intertwined like the stems of a rosebush. "_Yes, _Dean, you're so good, you're amazing, better than any of them said!" Just as Dean could feel himself getting lost in the seductive stranger's almost feline movements, she began to laugh at him. Her laughter was a hideous, deep, masculine sound. She slapped him hard in the ribs and his eyes flickered open to reveal a shitty motel room.

The small but stylish apartment fell away into furniture and décor which had never seen this side of the 21st Century before, and Dean's large, comfortable bed transformed into a cheap, pay-by-the-hour mattress with a few too many stains and springs to offer support or comfort. More importantly, his sexy stranger was gone. Her horrendous laughter had become apparent as being Sam's laughter, seeping into Dean's unconscious brain. Sam nudged him again in the ribs with his foot until Dean turned to look at him on his own, equally shitty bed.

"You know," Sam began, a badly-hidden smirk on his face. "When you dream about a woman, you say what she says out loud." Sam's voice became high-pitched and soft as he mimicked sleeping-Dean. "Oh Dean you're so _big_, you're better than any of them _said_, you're the best I've ever _had_." Dean squinted at Sam, communicating to him 'I hate you' through a method only siblings can truly comprehend. "Your ego knows no bounds Dean."

"Thank you."

"Seriously not a compliment. Now come on, we've got work to do, you've slept enough." And with that Dean clambered out of his bed, put on his jacket and boots, and followed Sam out of the motel, silently praying that the next time he slept the sultry mistress of his subconscious would be waiting for him…


End file.
